Banana Split in Two

So here I am.

Alone.

Yet, I am on my first date.

I am 18.

In a crappy dinner.

The same dinner where I met this date.

The same dinner where I used to spend hours dreaming about meeting someone.

Then a week ago that dream came true.

While sitting in my corner bar seat, someone actually sat next to me.

And for the first time this person did not ignore me, was not hideous or female, and actually sat there for a purpose.

The purpose being the lonely long faced girl drinking coffee by her self.

Yes that was me.

I had never been anyone’s purpose before this.

I found it creepy.

He sat next to me and ordered a Banana Split.

It was 8am.

He smiled at me.

He being a stranger at the time.

A stranger with a Velvet Underground shirt, Buddy Holly glasses, dirty jeans, and slippers.

I can admit I found him interesting.

He had innocence in his eyes.

I had melancholy in mine.

When the lady, I always called her “the lady”, gave him his Banana Split I mumbled something.

Something I would have hoped no one heard.

Something no one would have heard if it was a normal day and I alone in that corner.

But this something was heard by the Banana Split ordering smile wearing boy who sat uncomfortably next to me.

He asked me what I had mumbled.

He asked this with a smile.

I just looked at the bar.

I was blushing and then I spoke.

I told him that I mumbled how I used to know someone who used to eat that same thing for breakfast.

He asked who it was.

I told him it used to be me.

This little fact would not let him leave me alone.

But I really did not want him to leave me.

I hated being alone.

He asked what changed.

I told him everything.

“But what was everything”, he inquired.

I told him that everything was too long to talk about in only one day.

“So let’s talk about it over a night.”

That is how I got here.

One week and 10 hours later.

And I am early or he is late.

Maybe it’s vice versa.

But for the first time in a long while I am not sitting in my corner.

But I am alone.

But I am alone waiting to not be alone.

That does sound like me.

I was worried.

What if he forgot?

What if a crazy clown attacked him on his way over and now he was being murdered in a really small colorful car?

What if he stood me up?

Did I say that this was my first date?

And I made sure that I was not confused.

I asked if it was a date.

And he smiled and said yes.

It was a date.

As I sat there thinking of the worst possible reasons why he was not smiling in my direction.

I did not think of the most obvious.

Which was: He was late.

Or well what really happened was something else.

He was late because he was washing his only pair of pants.

And because it was the first time he had ever done this on his own, he assumed that it would take only a few minutes.

Of course he was wrong.

But worried that he would leave the melancholic girl, which was me, in a worse mood he left the laundry mat with partly wet pants.

Moments later he would rush into the Dinner.

Freak out because he could not find me.

Finally see me, sit down, say sorry multiple times, and then tell me what I just told you.

When was finally seated and comfortable he told me he liked my shirt.

Mine being of Lou Reed the lead singer of what was once The Velvet Underground.

I told him I must have put it on subconsciously.

I lied.

I did it on purpose.

I even wore my thick glasses.

But I also a lot more make than I usually wore.

I felt kind of hot, but also a bit trampy.

And this came from someone who wearing pants.

Of course skinny jeans, but then I also wearing a granny sweater.

I looked like a hot granny.

I bet there is some hot grannies out there.

I just the kind with a never been opened vagina.

And never been kissed lips.

And my god I sad excuse of a girl.

A shut in until I met him.

This night he was wearing the same dirty pants that were now wet, the same Buddy Holly glasses, but a different shirt.

A vintage polo shirt.

And different shoes.

Grandpa shoes.

It made me smile.

He was my grandpa and I his grandma, but that just sounds wrong written down.

It was much cuter in my head.

He told me it was nice to see me smile.

I did not even notice I was smiling.

I never smiled anymore.

Then he asked me why did I ever stop smiling, and was it the same reason I stopped eating Banana Splits?

I nodded and lost my smile.

I stopped because I lost more than my smile.

I lost a friend.

This friend was my best friend.

She was my first friend and my only friend.

She was also a bit of a dare devil.

She was the reason for any excitement in my usually dull life.

She was flirt and not afraid to reach for what she wanted.

She was everything I was not.

And that was exactly what I needed.

But with excitement comes risks.

One sad dumb day she chose go on a date.

I usually go with as a third but on this day she wanted to go alone.

The risks name was Diablo.

Not his real name.

His real name was Tim, but he wanted something more “hardcore.”

Simple minded Tim.

But his name did suit him, because underneath that simple mindedness was a killer.

Well just an idiot, which though it was romantic to leave your date on train tracks, while you left to get her a present.

She was blind folded and listening to her ipod.

The present was a banana split.

That was why I no longer ate Banana Splits.

Too much excitement for me.

He told me he was sorry.

I told him he had no reason to sorry.

He was neither an idiot nor a Tim.

Then I asked him if his name was Tim.

Just for precautions.

No, he said, his name was Joseph.

Not Joe.

Not Joey.

Joseph.

Good, I told him, because I could never date a Tim.

Nor a Banana Split.

That is just not right.

The boy named Joseph smiled.

He told me he though I was funny.

He also said he understood how it felt to lose someone, because he had recently lost someone himself.

This was the reason he moved away from home and the reason his pants were wet.

His mother died.

Not because of risks but because she had none.

She was a shut in who was home one night alone.

Her husband had left years before and all she had was a son.

But he chose to actually have a life that night.

A really bad night to choose to start living.

That was the night a stranger came to visit his house.

The stranger knocked and his mother kindly opened the door.

She was always too kind.

Long story short when he got home the house was surrounded by flashing lights.

He left town with only his and a trunk full of stuff after the funeral.

I told I him I was sorry.

He told I did not have to be.

I told him we should probably eat something.

How about a Banana Split?

I told him if he thought I should split.

He thought something dirty.

He told me later that night.

But instead he was sorry and that that was insensitive.

Thank was all said and asked if would rather just split to my apartment.

He said he would quite like that, because he was tired of being alone.

I was tired of that too.

We grabbed our stuff and walked out the front door.

Then to his car.

Which was a old Volkswagen bus.

A hippy car.

On the inside it was filled of home.

It was odd that fully loaded car there was no jeans.

I checked.

I gave him the directions to my apartment.

We listened to The Velvet Underground.

He parked in my garage.

Next to my white Vespa.

We walked up to my apartment and I opened the white door with the number 32 on it.

For the first time I acted on my impulsions and kissed him.

I was not alone anymore.

We were not alone anymore.

We now had excitement.

But with excitement comes risks.